


Eight for a Wish

by Hrafnsmal



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Cyril doesn't have a big role I'm sorry, M/M, Modern AU (but it's not very important), Pillow Talk, Post morning sex, the "biennial ex sex fic"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrafnsmal/pseuds/Hrafnsmal
Summary: « Well, the elastic, you know, you can pull it, in every direction, straining it, and you can pull it back, and back, and back, until the thing is just about to break. The two extremities, yeah, apart from one another, on a veeeery long distance. But then, at some point, you have to let go. And when you stop pulling, these two sides of the elastic, they collide back on each other with as much force than you put in before. Mh. » He nodded, then looked at Tommy.He was listening, face impassible as always, holding his cigarette between his index and middle finger, thumb resting slightly at the bottom. Blue eyes unreadable. If you didn't know him as deeply as the other gangster did.« What is pulling the extremities apart, Alfie ? »
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32
Collections: Peaky Blinders Exchange Round Two: Season 5 Edition





	Eight for a Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boundinshallows (museme87)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/gifts).

> I'm sorry if there are mistakes of grammar or syntax !! English is not my native language, I did my best. Hope you enjoy though, and merry Christmas !

« I shouldn't even be here. »  


They were lying on their backs, side by side on Alfie's bed, sweat drying off their skin. The window shades were half-closed and only a few rays of light were passing through, bathing the room in a dim golden glow. An enormous dog was snoring slightly in a corner. Otherwise, it had been quiet.  


Tommy wasn't watching the particles of dust in the air, revealed by the sun. He kept staring at the ceiling after his statement, knowing that his partner at his side was doing the same. There was a deep rumble at his left, the sound of Alfie scratching at his beard, considering. Then :  
« Mate, what's the point ? You do a lot of things you ain't fucking supposed to do in the first place, don't you ?  
-Yeah. »  


Tommy arched an eyebrow.  
« You, for exemple » he added.  


A bark of a laugh. Fuck, he had missed that. The easy conversations, the occasional slight roasting, the quiet of the room. The complementary reflexions they shared, the mutual knowledge. The understanding lying undercurrent, never said out loud, only to be felt, not voiced.  


Tommy tried to put these thoughts aside, reached for the nightstand and his cigarettes, lit one as he rested the back of his skull against the headboard. He could feel Alfie's eyes on him. Ceiling contemplation was over, then.  
« I see you kept my lighter, » said Alfie, folding one arm under his own head, tone casual, apparently not giving a flying fuck. Tommy knew him beyond that.  


But he wasn't going to walk this slippery slope, was he ? What would be the point of it ? What was over was over. What was behind, behind. There was nothing he could do about it.  


And yet there he was. Lying on those sheets, spent, muscles nicely aching, just like every two years. More like every year, recently. Fuck, they had broken up so long ago. Why were they coming back like this ?  
« 'T's like a fucking elastic, in'it ? » said Alfie, stirring Tommy out of his thoughts.  
« What ?  
-An elastic, you know. Lil' bouncy things.  
-I know what an elastic is, Alfie. »  


The bearded man shifted slightly at his side, one hand resting on his own stomach. The back of it tattooed with a symbol of his gang. Fingers devoid of rings since their little activities of the last evening. Tommy focused back on his face, but Alfie wasn't looking at him anymore, eyes fixed upon a very precise goal only he could see for now.  
« Well, the elastic, you know, you can pull it, in every direction, straining it, and you can pull it back, and back, and back, until the thing is just about to break. The two extremities, yeah, apart from one another, on a veeeery long distance. But then, at some point, you have to let go. And when you stop pulling, these two sides of the elastic, they collide back on each other with as much force than you put in before. Mh. » He nodded, then looked at Tommy.  


He was listening, face impassible as always, holding his cigarette between his index and middle finger, thumb resting slightly at the bottom. Blue eyes unreadable. If you didn't know him as deeply as the other gangster did.  
« What is pulling the extremities apart, Alfie ? » he asked, their eyes locked.  


They stayed like this a few seconds, then Alfie straightened up a little, motionning with his hand towards Tommy's cigarette.  
« Gimme that » he said.  
« You shouldn't.  
-Of course, nobody should, filthy habit that is. »  


Tommy observed his held out hand, retained a sigh and gave him the little cancer stick, watching as Alfie pulled on it before blowing the smoke through his nose. Then he gave it back to Tommy.  
« Fucking disgusting. »  


Tommy didn't bother to arch an eyebrow. This was why it had worked so well between them at first. Their hability to let things slide. Then they had let too much slide, took advantage of it. There were wrongs on both sides, he guessed. And in their line of work on top of that, of course it could not go smoothly. It hadn't. When had he begun to let the line between work and personal relationship blurr, first of all ? Long ago, he realized for the hundredth time, feeling something twist in his chest at the thought of long dark blonde hair and not-so-expensive perfume. Alfie had just been the last in the line of his mistakes, he had tried to tell himself, the fact that they both survived what was supposed to be their last encounter was pure luck. Chance. That had propulsed them on separate ways, before they met back, two extremities of a rubber band, their scars healed and with room for more.  


And they had kept coming back, each time in a heated, intense impulse which let them panting, aching and wondering why they had put an end to this. « Bad blood » Tommy had said back then. They had spilled their fair share of that and now didn't know what to do with what was left. Men like them did not like not knowing what to do. So they did come and go, one way or the other, parting and meeting back. They could not live with one another anymore. And could not live without.  


So yes, Tommy had kept the lighter. Fine craftsmanship, made of silver and all. A gift. From the man who stabbed him, the man he had shot. Who was looking at him right now, a glint in his eyes. As if daring him to do something this time. Tommy knew better than to catch the bait, but _how he wanted to_.  
__

_ __ _

So he looked away. Not moving yet, for he knew that it would be over the moment he would reach for his clothes, for the door. He resumed smoking. When the cigarette would be finished, he would go, he thought. Until the next time. He ended up saying :  
« You're unusually silent.  
-Well yeah, I was letting you an occasion to voice your thoughts, mate, for they seemed to be swirling all over in that funny shaven head of yours. »  


Tommy took a drag of his cigarette. Waiting for what was about to follow.  
« The thing, you see, is that, on the contrary of some over-dramatic biblical characters, we possess the ability to look back without risking a divine punishment of the salty sort » said Alfie, squinting at him. « And I think, Tommy, this is something you and I could make a very nice use of. »  


Tommy didn't move, some ash from the cigarette falling on the sheet. Steeling himself against the possibility he had caught a glimpse of.  
« What is over, is over » he eventually said.  
« Fuck off, mate, I know that. That's why I'm telling you this, isn't it ?» answered Alfie on a playful tone.  


Tommy looked at him, taking in the information.  
« But please, bore the fuck out of me with wise, original, meaningful sentences such as « the past is in the past ». » Tommy caught a flash of crooked teeth, and raised his eyebrows, blinking. Alfie was messing with him.  
«What about « what you have lost never returns » ? » he played along, eliciting a painful groan from his partner, who put the heels of his hands over his eyes.  


Tommy put aside the cigarette, allowing himself a stupid smile, briefly, and pushed his not-quite-ex with his foot, earning another invitation to fuck off.  
« Just like in that poem with the crow, eh ? » he asked, willing to cheer up his partn- his frien- his lov-... willing to cheer up Alfie. He remembered his fondness for books, the part of the shelf that was dedicated to Poe's. How they used to read it together sometimes, even though himself did not like it too much. He was willing to make the effort, back then, just like Alfie when he would accompany him through muddy fields to check on some horse.  


Alfie's answer provided him a good distraction to avoid to think about how precise the memories were, how he carefully kept them. Locked up somewhere in his mind.  
« For fuck's sake, Thomas, it's a raven. »  


So much for the precision. He shrugged, Alfie already rambling about ravens being psychopomps and also shagging in Noah's Ark.  


He was feeling at ease, laying there, half-listening to the alternatively deep and twangy voice of his whatever, and they were not even holding knives to each other. Maybe they could work together again. Maybe together could work again.  


He reached out, taking Alfie's hand in his own and intertwining their fingers nonchalantly, stopping the usually neverending stream of thoughts, for one second or two, the time for Alfie to tighten his grisp in answer.  


Tommy closed his eyes, letting the muscles of his face relax into not a smile, but a satisfied expression. The day was young and they could afford to stay like this a little longer.  


After all, his cigarette was long finished and he was still there.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wonders, a psychopomp is an animal who brings communication/makes the link between the world of the living and the world of the dead.


End file.
